Monthly Archives: March 2011

What does it mean when you consider yourself sunny but your taste runs darker than a prairie night? Upon packing for my trip I found my bag filled to bursting with black, gray, and combinations there of. I sure do hope it’s not too much an indicator of my mental temperature. Either way, for your viewing pleasure I have compiled some of my favorite adornments. All of which lean towards the macabre. Just pair it with a mini hat and some hammer pants. No one will accuse you of melancholy.

“Do not go gentle into that good night……..”

Black Sheep and Prodigal Sons eek out a niche that I like to call blasphemous bones. I really dig the mix of relics and dead things. Oh, and a key, just cuz it’s cool right now. http://news.blacksheepandprodigalsons.com/

Do I love you because your name is Pamela Love? Or is your name Pamela Love because I love you? (Lots of love for such dark matter.) Regardless, Miss Love is hot shit right now and for good reason. That giant star bracelet is all kinds of awesome.

The creations of Alexander Calder (1898-1976) are wicked smart and prodigal beyond belief. He used a hammer and not much else to bend, mold, and sculpt pieces that now sit in a museum. P.S. Isn’t Angelica Houston lovely? What a face!

Every once and a while etsy spits out something amazing. This is one of those times. Norwegian wood is more than just diy, it is high end goodies for low end duckets. God bless you! http://www.etsy.com/shop/iheartnorwegianwood

‘Ello governers. Hope all is super for you and yours. I just touched down from a week of wild west traveling. I am feeling very inspired and excited about life thanks to a new perspective. So much to share that I can’t find the words right meow. One thing however, an insomniatic evening found me reading “The Guide to Getting It On” from cover to cover. That, and a few nights of falling asleep to my host turning his woman out, has me burning up. I pass this on to you. What is in my head will now be in yours. The super moon has me dancing……………

Glamour lost its champion yesterday. Rest peacefully Elizabeth. Those eyes have burned holes through many a heart.

The footage from Japan is mind numbing and gut wrenching all at once, if that is even possible. I want to cry, run, hide, fight, flip the fuck out. That village that was washed into the sea is now being spit out by that same merciless drink, the dead floating onto the beaches they fished in life but one day ago. The horror I feel at seeing the headlines of this tragedy sandwiched between the inane one liners of Charlie Sheen is beyond explanation. There is no need to wallow in the miseries of the world but there is also no good reason to fan the flames of empty celebrity in the name of entertainment. Let us reward the do betters with our attention and leave the babbling babies to their dirty diapers and tantrums. Trade TMZ for TED. If we ignore them they will go away. I promise.

If the sights and sounds of Japan’s nightmare hasn’t made this clear to you yet, I will reiterate: Be ready, be loving, be kind, be fair, and remind the ones you love that you will be all of these things for them, forever.

Once upon a time there was a little girl. She had one dad who said “Because I said so” and one aunt who fed her quartered and peeled grapefruit pieces. I could tell you about the metropolis of imaginary friends she had but there is no time for that now. As she got older the “I said so”s turned into silence, the dad was afraid of little girls who get bigger. And the grapefruit was replaced with long drives that peeled and quartered the small town where she lived, the aunt refused to loose a minute because little girls get bigger. The fatherly silence was filled by the aunties words of wisdom, so the girl barely noticed the quiet. The city of ghost friends who only she knew stayed with her, never becoming any more alive or any less real. All of the silence from her lost family and her mute school mates became normal, when they did talk it was too loud and the girl’s ears would ring. Only when she shut the door on the world and opened up a cassette tape did the noise start to make sense.

Years passed by and she got bigger. Little girls who get bigger always find other little girls who are getting bigger too. This girl found a town of real live girls whose voices calmed her, voices that put the city of ghosts to sleep. As the days passed she no longer needed silence to feel safe, she wanted LIFE! She craved boys and mothers, kisses and secrets, the world ripped itself open and revealed something pretty. There was breath that smelled of candy and whispered of joys untold. And yet, dear reader, we know that it’s those cravings that while they open the world they also let in the monsters. Even the chorus of her new found angels couldn’t keep her safe all of the time.

Once the girl was full grown and her life was a symphony of highs and lows, she found herself dreaming of tranquility. She dreamt of the silent father and the generous aunt. They had been drowned out by the glamor of sound and she longed for their kind quiet. She knew that in order to find true happiness she would need to find them again and show them how peaceful they were.

With the help of both her real and imaginary friends she put one foot on the path towards home. There was only one way to get there and it meant walking back exactly the way she came. The journey took 33 years but the road was always clear and the company keep her fearless. On the day she made it to her childhood home it rained so much that the house was starting to float away. After walking for 33 years she had no energy left to run for the stoop. The house shifted and swayed. It bobbed and rolled on the water almost in reach. She was about to give up hope, part of her already had, when she glimpsed her father in the window. He was sitting on the couch waiting for her to come home. So she swam.

I awoke to the gray day that makes up the lions share of Portland weather and realized that today is the 14 year anniversary of Biggie Smalls’ murder. The memories that were set to his musical stylings came flooding back. Biggie was one of my hip-hop pantheon. He was the Jabba of rap and I swooned over his raspy, filthy words. I am west coast lass by birth but my ears belong to the east. Rest in peace my friend and may justice eventually be brought to the fool that done slayed you.

As a tribute to the Notorious One I bring you a small slice of the male species that have defined what it means to be a real man. God bless ’em, fewer and fewer are born every day. So if you have one of these men in your keeping you best hold on tight because a real man is a commodity.

“If you don’t love yourself, I’ll make you see your own heart.”

“I pretended to be somebody I wanted to be until finally I became that person. Or he became me.” Cary Grant

No, Aloe, YOU make me smile.

“Put my heart and soul into this song….” Mos Def (Tickets to the show in April, hint hint, my birfday cometh)

Ole Blue Eyes, how I love thee. So dashing, so scattaweebobdooweedoooooo!

God bless my friends who have been picking up the check, buying my way in, and keeping my spirits up as I bloody my body on this job hunt. Today my friend gave me some work copying for her law firm, which was surprisingly satisfying. The rhythm was cathartic and I found myself in an unholy alliance with a massive hunk of heaving, belching copy machine. There is something to be said for a job you can tackle and actually finish. Who knew? It is possible that by limiting myself to work that seems exciting is, well, limiting. After I post these photos of glamorous dames I plan on doing some filing.

P.S….skin is in, pink is the new black.

Imogen Cunningham, one brassy old lassy!Please lord let me be this cool when I am 80.

“There is no lie, there is no system. The universe is indifferent.” Don Draper (Mad Men)

Cold comfort, eh?

It may just be a knee jerk to all the ugliness in the world but I am just craving pretty. I want whimsy, I want flirty, I want fantasy. I want stripped down and raw fabrics that you can dry on the line. I want simple. Look to Unabashed apparel for that. (http://unabashedapparel.com/) The looks below belong in my closet. Hint hint.

Looking for inspiration? Get off the couch and go to your local library. Ask the nice quasi hot nerd at the desk for the back log of National Geographics. Prepare to be enlightened. Nothing is as a sexy as man on a sherpa (I’m talking to you Jimmy Chin).

There are wonderful things afoot, I can just feel it. Despite what is quickly becoming a dire financial situation, I find myself in awe of a brilliant future. Glad to have you along for the ride.

It’s time to focus on the fecund and the creative. I know its in me, the wellspring of doing and making. I just need to strike hard and deep. Every line, every idea, has a purpose, something bigger than just me, even if only by a little bit.